Sunday

I never liked Sundays. I always found them boring and restrictive. I regard Sundays like I regard many things from my youth; with dislike and sentiment. It causes an interesting feeling where I’m not sure if I like it or don’t.


I never liked Sundays. Looking back, I remember visiting my grandma, picking daisies in her front garden, playing football in the school area and kicking the ball on the roof. I remember the freedom in fancy dress, running around getting my Sunday clothes dirty. I remember Sundays always being sunny. But I never liked Sundays, because they were boring and restrictive.

It’s amazing how a day can generate such emotions. ‘Sunday in the Park with George’ does exactly that. Sundays as I remember Sundays. Apparently, Sundays as a lot of people remember Sundays.

Of all the days in the week, the Sunday is one that stands out. It’s tranquility. It’s freedom. Its breaking away from conventional way of life. Its posing, strutting and hanging.

I wish we had a park when I was young. We had no such thing. We had a football field, the wood and many living rooms and homely gardens. Never a park. We had kids’ tv early in the morning when even my own mother wasn’t up yet. We had afternoon visits to grandma. We had studio sport in the evening. Sunday always was something else, something I always tried to get through as quickly as possible. Saturdays were always my favourite.

I think that is what it is. I think that is what resonates from the painting, in the musical and all the songs. That is what a lot of people recognize. It’s that what binds us. Sundays.

Now that I am grown up and I can fill in my Sundays in any way I want, Sundays aren’t nearly as bad as they used to be. Something like this I like about it:

“White. A blank page of canvas his favorite. So many possibilities.”

Yeah, I think I understand that. Looking forward to all the Sundays still laying ahead of me.